


The Circus

by fireheart93



Series: Life's a Circus (so why not join one) [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: AI as children, Circus!AU, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 11:03:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1508168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireheart93/pseuds/fireheart93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Cirque de L'invention is not a family business, though it is full of children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Circus

The Cirque de L'invention is not a family business, though it is full of children. During every show the performer’s children are watched over by a motherly woman, who is some undefined relation of the Director’s, in a small tent behind the Big Top. The Director himself never goes near that tent. He is not good with children, and anyway he is too busy playing the part of Ringmaster, presiding over the wonders of his circus, the animals and clowns, magicians and acrobats. This is a circus of runaways and lost souls, people looking to escape, to make themselves anew. They are not filled with romantic notions of bringing joy to children, they perform to escape from themselves for a little while, to pretend they are different. This is a cynic’s circus, though the audience would never know it. From the outside it is picture perfect, if perhaps a little macabre, with tents striped in black and blood red, standing tall against the sky.

David arrives at the Circus with a bag at his feet and his nephew asleep on his hip, clothes still smelling faintly of smoke. All he needs is passage away from this town, and the memories that linger in it, and the Circus is advertising for stage hands. He grew used to heavy lifting in his time in the army, and the woman he had spoken to the night before had said the kid wouldn’t be problem. He walks under the black banner with red lettering, past the closed ticket booths and into the centre of the ring of tents, before pausing and looking around him. The tents are silent, fabric rippling in the slight wind.   
“Well hello, handsome,” the voice rings out across the grass and David spins around, instinctively dropping into an approximation of a fighting stance. His eyes come to rest on a tall, dark-skinned man in an aqua t-shirt, hands held out in front of him in a steadying gesture. “Easy tiger,” he says, grinning widely. “What’s a man like you doing in a place like this?” he asks, eyebrow waggling suggestively. David straightens up, clears his throat and gathers his composure.  
“I’m looking for Lacy Green,” he said. The man look confused for a moment, then grinned again.  
“You mean 479er,” he says, “come on, I’ll take you to her.” He doesn’t wait but turns and walks away, David hurrying to pick up his bag and follow, adjusting his nephew’s position on his hip, trying not to wake him. He walks double-time to catch up to the other man as he weaves between tents, heading towards the far end of the big top.  
“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, “it’s been a while since we’ve had some fresh meat.” The leer on his face indicates exactly what sort of meat he means; David feels a blush spread up his cheeks. He coughs slightly, but is saved from having to reply by the arrival of the woman who hired him.  
“Don’t scare the newbie, Tucker,” she calls as she strides towards them, “we need the extra hands.”  
“You know I’ll lend you mine if you ask nicely, bow chicka…” his leer is cut off by the woman sticking a strip of duct tape across his mouth, almost faster than David can blink.   
“Don’t even think it,” she says. “Don’t you have some clowning to do?” The dark-skinned man, Tucker David thinks, peels of the tape with a grimace.  
“Jeez, Seven, was that really necessary?” The look she gives him is answer enough, her desire to replace the tape written plane on her face. “Alright, I’m going, I’m going, I can tell when I’m not wanted. But you,” he turns to David, “come find me later. I’ll give you the guided tour of all the best places, ending with the best place of all.”  
“If the best place is your bed then I swear to god I will convince the Director to let CT use you for knife throwing practice,” 479er growls.  
“Alright, I’m gone,” Tucker throws a wink in David’s direction before sauntering away, adding a little extra sway to his hips, looking back over his shoulder before he turns a corner. David doesn’t notice he’s staring at him fixedly until 479er clears her throat.   
“Don’t mind him,” she says, “he’s an idiot. Walk with me.” She turns and strides away, David hurrying to keep up. “First thing’s first,” she says, not looking back at him, “you’re meeting with the Director. Then you can drop the kid at the nursery and I’ll show you the ropes.” She smirks at her words, and he realises she means that literally. He’s already having difficulty telling the tents apart.  
“I am never going to find my way around,” he says to himself but she hears him.”  
“Oh you will once you’ve helped to set it up a few times. Trust me on that. Here we are.” She stops outside a large caravan painted in black and red, the words ‘Mother of Invention’ painted in silver along the side. 479er knocks on the door and opens it when a voice tells her to.  
“I’ve got the new stage hand to see you, sir,” she says respectfully.   
“Bring him in,” a man’s voice says. She turns and gestures for David to step into the caravan. It’s warm inside, dark where the curtains are closed. An older man sits at a desk covered in papers and leather bound books, not looking at him. Another younger man sit’s further back, in the shadows, staring at him unnervingly.  
“You can go, 479er,” the younger man says.  
“I’ll wait outside for you,” she almost whispers to David before leaving, shutting the door behind her. Silence fills the caravan for a moment. David watches the dust in the air, hoping his nephew will stay asleep.  
“You are Washington,” the older man says. It’s not a question. David blinks before speaking.  
“No, my name is David.”  
“Your name was David. Now it is Washington, and your child is Epsilon.” David frowns. The younger man speaks,  
“We like to separate people’s pre-circus lives from their present. We feel it helps them come to terms with the changes.”  
“And you are?” David says, not entirely politely.  
“I am the Counsellor,” the younger man says not rising to David’s tone. “Though you are a stage hand, you will be housed with the Blue Team, our clowns. You should get along with them.”  
“And if I don’t?” David asks.  
“Then we will relocate you,” the Counsellor says. “We want you to be happy.” David doubts that but doesn’t say anything. Silence falls again for a moment. “Well you had better be going,” the Counsellor says, “479er has a lot to show you.” David turns to go but stops as the Director speaks,  
“Welcome to the Circus, Washington.” David nods, then opens the door and steps outside.

“Everything okay?” 479er says as he comes out the door.  
“Yeah,” David says, “everything’s fine.”  
“So who are you?” she asks.  
“I’m,” David pauses, taking a breath. “I’m Washington, and this is Epsilon.”  
“Washington, huh,” 479er says, tilting her head.  
“Yeah,” he says defensively, “is that weird.”  
“Not really,” she says, shrugging slightly, “it’s just that, usually only performers get state names, stage crew get numbers.”  
“I’m not performing,” Washington says, voice rising in pitch slightly.  
“Don’t worry,” she says, “I won’t let anyone hurt you.” She smirks slightly. “Anyway, let’s get going. Lots to do.” She walks away and he follows, turning his name over in his head. Washington, a new name for a new life. He thinks he could get used to this.


End file.
